


Children of Blood and Fortune

by thatdamnuchiha



Series: Ouroboros [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: (likely), Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Bigotry & Prejudice, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Family Magic, Gen, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Harry Potter Has a Twin, Haruno Sakura-centric, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, James Potter Lives, Lily Evans Potter Lives, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Neglect, Neglected Harry Potter, Neglected Haruno Sakura, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Parseltongue, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Rebirth, Reincarnation, Slytherin Haruno Sakura, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Strong Haruno Sakura, Triplets, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Worldbuilding, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), or so I try
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28971186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdamnuchiha/pseuds/thatdamnuchiha
Summary: Something to note about Lillian Dorea Potter: that hasn’t always been her name.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura & Harry Potter, Haruno Sakura & Harry Potter & Original Character(s), Haruno Sakura & Original Character(s), Haruno Sakura & Orochimaru, Haruno Sakura & Sasori, Haruno Sakura & Sasori & Uchiha Itachi, Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Itachi, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Ron Weasley & Original Character(s)
Series: Ouroboros [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124993
Comments: 55
Kudos: 233





	1. Prologue | What Happens in the Forbidden Forest…

**Author's Note:**

> OK... I probably shouldn't be posting yet another work up, but funnily enough this is the only one I could write for because the words wouldn't flow for the rest. My aim is to never have more WIPs than Completed Works, so I guess I'm fine on that front.
> 
> Anyway, this work is a biggie - by which I mean I'm not exactly flying by the seat of my pants like I am for a lot of my other works here. I have a rough idea of the overall plot and the many subplots involved... because this is gonna get complex fast. This was inspired by a few of the HP fics I've read over my few years on the archive, along with some of the all too familiar tropes associated with the HP Fandom. WBWL is one of them, and I'm rather hoping I'll put a decent spin on it. I'm aiming for no bashing in this fic - because I inherently dislike bashing, and thereby pretty much tend to avoid it - all the characters have their reasons for doing what they do.
> 
> This is going to be Canon Divergent and Not Canon Compliant, meaning there will be characters you've never seen before, as well as characters alive who should be dead, and also some characters which might act different to their canon counterparts because of the original characters as well as the reincarnated shinobi, along with parts of history which might be altered somewhat, so please keep that in mind. This is also my first crossover with the HP Fandom, so here's to hoping you'll find this interesting, whether you've read another of my works before or not.
> 
> I aimed with this work to steer away from the whole 'ninja on a mission to protect so and so' or 'Harry Potter is an Uchiha' or 'someone stumbles into a different dimension shindig'. The Elemental Nations do not co-exist with the HP universe. Rather the Naruto Characters who appear in this have died and remember dying (so #trauma-ahoy! or maybe not - who knows?). Additionally, chakra isn't magic in this, and there are rules regarding chakra usage alongside magic, so be prepared for that. Along with some worldbuilding probably.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

**24 June 1995**

_(After Little Hangleton)_

The Forbidden Forest

A shovel planted itself in the dirt, wrenching free yet another piece of earth loose as Lillian Potter dug the hole. “Why,” she bit out, “are we doing this the _Muggle_ way?” she asked, not pausing in her task even as three other shovels continued to move in tandem. The silence was unnerving her, and she wanted nothing more than to be free of it. In fact, she would have loved nothing more than to be by her brother’s side – the one she could actually stand, that was – but alas, as fate would have it, there were bigger things to be done.

“Do try to recall where we are, _Potter_ ,” a familiar voice drawled, voice as oily as ever in the way only Edwin Rosier’s could be, and the aforementioned Potter rolled her eyes. “Or would you rather have a herd of centaur come galloping down on our heads?”

Lillian clicked her tongue, digging her shovel into the hardened earth once more, gritting her teeth as she steeled herself against the task set before her. They had to finish up, and they had to do so as soon as humanly possible, lest all their hard work go to ruin.

“Why couldn’t we have just thrown him to the acromantula?” she grumbled, ignoring a certain blonde’s shudder at her words.

Alexander Prewett snorted. “Would you rather have spent the night running from man-eating spiders, then, perhaps?” he asked, casting a glance at the tarpaulin sheet conjured with the help of their trusty Rosier.

“I,” Lillian hissed, chakra pulsing underneath her skin as she plunged the shovel back into the dirt, kicking it in. “Am a _cute_ girl, thank you very much,” she muttered. “So perhaps I could have happily watched while the _man_ -eating spiders tore you all into bloody pieces.”

“Could you both be quiet for once in your insipid little lives?” Rosier hissed. “The last thing we need is for you to get the all of us discovered and subsequently arrested by even more moronic buffoons who make even Crabbe look intelligent.”

“Then perhaps,” a soft voice murmured, “you could all stop riling each other up.” Pale blue eyes looked at all of them, the colouring like ice. Truly, it was terribly fitting _he_ had ended up with unusual eyes out of the lot of them. Louis Malfoy stared at them all, and Lillian bit her tongue as she remembered what he had all but been forced to do that very evening.

Swallowing her temper and pride was like swallowing a brick. But she would do it for him – it was the least she owed him. “I’m sorry,” she spat, huffing then, glaring at the two who had caught her ire then. “Don’t expect me to ever say that again.”

Prewett snorted. “I hardly expected that much from you – what with your precious _brother who lived_ there to inflate that ego of yours,” he said, and Lillian only glared.

“Enough!” Malfoy hissed, tone sharp and biting. “This is like having two little siblings bickering over their favourite teddy bears,” he said, and Lillian could only stare at him.

Rosier snorted. “And big brother Louis loves you both, so be quiet at once and keep digging, unless you would rather stay out all night,” he said, voice as mocking and slimy as ever. “Unlike some puerile infants, I do have business I would rather be doing.”

“Who _exactly_ are you calling puerile?” Prewett demanded, eyes blazing, and Lillian could only snort at his reaction, despite her own internal rage at being called _childish._ They were the furthest thing from children by that point in time, no matter their undersized bodies.

“All of you will be receiving a slap over the head from my trusty transfigured shovel if you do not shut up right this instant,” Malfoy stated, bland and casual – like he threatened people in that manner every day. Lillian supposed in another life that might’ve been true.

“Oh goodie,” Lillian muttered. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

Prewett elbowed her viciously in the ribs. “Shut up and get to work,” he snarled. “We have a body to bury.”

* * *

**7 January 1975**

“No magic after we’ve crossed the boundary line, remember?” the boy hissed, long dark waist-length hair flaring out behind him as he hurried towards the looming forest.

Another boy, younger than the first – a first year – hurried in his wake, black eyes narrowing on the back of the figure set before him. “Will it not revert… it?” he asked, the sound hushed despite the lack of anyone nearby. _And the lack of any disillusioned figures stalking them, or the sound of an invisibility cloak rustling atop the damp grass._ He knew his brother was keeping both an eye out and an ear out for those sorts of warnings.

The elder of the two snorted, twirling the twig around in his hand. “Are you forgetting what you learnt in transfiguration, little brother?”

The younger stared at him, a mulish, pointed glare set upon his face then. “You forget, dear brother, I am but a simple first year,” he said plainly. “I do not know as much as you because of that… so if you would be so kind as to share whatever is going on in that big brain of yours, I would be most obliged.”

“His corpse will forever remain this way,” his older brother said, the shadows of tall trees looming over them then. “Trampled over by student and beast alike, though his existence will neither be noticed or missed.”

A shark like grin curled at the younger boy’s lips. “A fitting end for such a _pathetic_ being,” he murmured. “Do you think elder brother will suspect a thing?”

“He may suspect,” his older brother declared, with a snort for good measure. _After all, how would one miss the fact they had no father waiting to beat their eldest brother when they returned?_ “But I doubt he will care. He cares— _cared,_ I should say, about our father as much as us, and considering we’re… well, us, that is quite a feat. Not that the oaf realised his folly when he always raised that strap.” A sigh left his lips. “He signed his death warrant the minute he lifted it. At least this way mother will live for a while longer, and elder brother will no longer have to worry about being beaten…”

The younger brother sighed, a forlorn expression set upon his face as he tucked a strand of inky black hair. “With the way he always protected us when we were younger, you would have thought he ought to be a Gryffindor.”

His brother sneered then. “What?” he asked, not a note of biting scathing to his voice as it would have held had another aside from his little brother said such a thing. “Amongst those imbecilic… how do the children say it in this place…?”

“Twits?” the younger offered, tilting his head innocently, despite the insulting word which had just left his lips.

The elder paused for a moment, blinking at his little brother for but a few moments. “For lack of a better word, yes,” he said, shaking his head then. “You never change, Ignatius…”

“I should hope not,” Ignatius spoke, fluttering his eyelashes demurely. “Now let us be rid of this… stick, and be back to the castle with us – lest we be caught by one of those insipid little prefects running about the castle…”

His older brother only snorted. “As if we would be caught,” he said, arm rearing back, throwing the transfigured stick into the forest from where they stood on the eves of its boundaries. It was further into the forest than Ignatius liked to be – both of them knew that much. Neither of them knew the extent of creatures who dwelled in those enchanted woods, and neither of them liked to venture anywhere unprepared.

“Honestly, brother,” Ignatius teased, skipping into step with the older boy then, dark eyes meeting with the matching ones which gleamed with satisfaction – their task complete. “One would think you should have been a Gryffindor with that foolhardy, brash nature of yours. It really is quite boorish—”

The elder lifted his wand, and Ignatius ran forwards then, giggling breathlessly even at the hiss of, _“Pungo!”_ behind him, and the following white bolt which shot from his elder brother’s wand.


	2. Chapter One | Lillian Dorea Potter

There was something unusual to note about Lillian Dorea Potter: that wasn’t always her name. Rather, it was the name she had been given in that body – in that tiny form.

Though admittedly it had taken for her to enter something called ‘Primary School’ for her to learn that ‘Freak’ wasn’t a name, nor a term of endearment. _Though really, she had gathered that much from the way the word was spat whenever she was in sight._ One Lillian Dorea Potter didn’t really care too much for her name though. She had used many a different names throughout her previous life on many a different missions – and if that wasn’t a whole other can of worms she didn’t know what was.

Her name had once been Haruno Sakura, daughter of Haruno Mebuki and Haruno Kizashi. Though now her name was Lillian Dorea Potter, daughter of Lily Potter and James Potter who had perished in a ‘car accident’ when she and her twin brother Harry were only a year old. _Filthy drunks,_ her aunt had called them whenever she was in earshot. That incident of drunken driving had resulted in her winding up in the care of her mother’s sister, and that was undeniably the beginning of her misfortunes.

There were similarities between Haruno Sakura and Lillian Potter – their green eyes, for one, which her twin brother was fortunate enough to share, but while her brother was black-haired with tangles which never seemed to smooth down, she was red-haired with locks which fell perfectly smooth and straight. Lillian thought she also had the same nose as Sakura, slim and straight with the end ever so slightly upturned, but her lips were thicker and slightly fuller from what she could tell. Her eyes were spaced slightly closer together, losing the angular edge to them which apparently was common to folk of another country in that world. _Not that her so-called family there were much for embracing cultures and folk outside of what they considered their own._

Patriots, they liked to call themselves, particularly her uncle, one Vernon Dursley.

Lillian liked to call them bigots, though she was careful to never do so in earshot. That would only result in being walloped over the head with the broom. The same broom which wasn’t kept in the broom cupboard under the stairs. The reason for that was simple enough: that cupboard under the stairs was where she and Harry slept.

It was a tiny space, barely big enough for one ten-year-old, much less two. Though in part Lillian was grateful for that, because the cupboard under the stairs became rather cold, especially on winter nights. The blankets they had were threadbare, the mattress beneath them worn thin, and Lillian was grateful for the extra body heat whenever they curled up together, shivering as the bitter cold overcame them both. Although the fact neither of them ate enough probably contributed to them being somewhat more prone to becoming cold in the midst of winter.

Neglect was what it was – plain and simple, and Lillian despised the Dursleys because of that. Had they hated them but simply provided them with all a growing child needed, besides healthy relationships, of course, then perhaps she would have debated on murdering them less than a hundred times… _but, alas…_

The country of England did not have the same laws as the Land of Fire. For one, murder was forbidden, and there were enforcers of this whom were called policemen and policewomen capable of investigating such events called ‘crimes’. They were a far cry away from shinobi, what with a strict moral code and laws to be followed. If Petunia and Vernon Dursley came to a sticky end… Technology there in that place, and a lack of culprits, as well as her and her brother’s unchanging reputation would lead the police to identify her as the murderer. Lillian didn’t particularly want to have to be separated from her brother and imprisoned, so alive the Dursleys had to stay. Though Lillian couldn’t wait until she came of age in that world and was free from the irritating people there. No matter what she and her brother did, no matter how nice she had acted for any length of time, had changed anyone’s opinions of her and her brother. _And Lillian knew her twin brother was one of the sweetest people around._

Footsteps sounded on the stairs above their heads, dust shaken loose and sprayed atop their heads and Lillian only sighed as she heard the latch on their door which had been bolted for the last three weeks jerk open.

Part of her only wondered what would have happened if she with all her lock-picking, and latch-unbolting skills hadn’t been there to enable she and her brother to sneak out and grab just a tiny portion of food and drink to keep themselves alive. Part of her wondered if her aunt and uncle genuinely wanted to kill both her and her brother off. _Part of her wondered if any of them would particularly care if the two most hated children in the neighbourhood were killed off by dehydration, starvation, or neglect of any other form._

Lillian doubted it, but then again, her hatred of pretty much everybody else in the neighbourhood was probably warping her viewpoint. Not that she particularly cared on that front. They hated her and so she would hate them. She was spiteful like that, and she didn’t particularly care.

She had learnt not to the minute Petunia Dursley had smacked her over the head with a hot frying pan when she was just a tender four years old. Her aunt – loathe she call her that – was only lucky she had gotten between the older woman and her brother in time. After all, her brother didn’t have _chakra_ and he wouldn’t have known how to heal such injuries as head wounds even if he’d had the means. Harry Potter wasn’t a reincarnate like herself – she’d already checked – and she had sworn to protect him from that moment onwards, because that was what elder siblings were meant to do.

Though her chakra and her reincarnation weren’t the only odd things about her.

After her aunt had walloped her over the head with heavy, hot metal, the lights around the house had all shattered as one in some _freakish_ incident as her family had so put it. _They were so very fond of the word ‘freak’_. After her aunt had given both she and Harry terrible haircuts which would have earned more bullying and teasing from their classmates, their hair had grown back overnight – and Lillian hadn’t used her chakra to do so.

They weren’t the only incidents, and Lillian knew both from a gut feeling and the instincts ingrained into her in another life, that there was something out of the ordinary going on right then and there. Not that her aunt or uncle seemed to care that she didn’t know what it was. They were blamed all the same – whether it be for turning a teacher’s hair blue (who had coincidently been very prejudiced against them) or for shattering plates without even touching them.

_Really,_ Lillian mused as a sharp rap came upon the door, _it was no wonder she was always itching to take care of her problems (namely the Dursleys) permanently with the only solution she knew._

“Up!” Petunia hissed, rapping on the door once more. “Get up!”

“Harry?” Lillian grumbled, ignoring the woman who had already gone back into the kitchen to deal with the first of breakfast preparations – the later of which were always left to her and her twin. “You awake?”

“I don’t think I could be asleep if I tried,” her brother muttered, sitting up then – only to whack his head against the underside of the stair riser as he sometimes did after a nice, relaxing sleep which made him forget what their reality was. “Ow!”

“The Harpy wants us to make breakfast,” she said rolling out of bed then even as her brother rubbed at his messy head, nimble fingers plucking a spider off her sock as she started getting dressed. “I’ll take care of the frying pan,” she mumbled, yawning then. “I don’t trust you with it.”

Harry sighed, an exhausted sound which sounded like it ought to be coming from someone several years older. “You never trust me with the frying pan,” her brother grumbled.

“Well the one time I did you almost spilt oil over yourself – hot, boiling oil,” Lillian reiterated, scoffing then, and her brother only sighed and smiled. “Maybe once you’ve grown a bit,” she said, recognising the soft vestiges of hurt in her brother’s expression. He liked helping her. More so because when they were younger she was the one who had worked harder to protect the pair of them from the Dursley’s outright cruel ministrations. Her brother was sweet enough to think that he needed to repay her in kind.

“Guess I’ll have to work hard then,” Harry mumbled, yawning midway through, putting his glasses on then.

Lillian hummed under her breath in agreement, climbing out of the cupboard then, hurrying towards the kitchen then, stopping only to give her bloated blubber whale of a cousin a sharp glare as he ran down the stairs. He enjoyed pushing them back into their cupboard far too much, regardless for the bruises and scrapes it gave them. He never seemed to care for the fact that both she and Harry were far too skinny, or that they were smaller than they ought to be – a consequence of not having three meals a day and a multitude of other things which could all be laid at the Dursleys' feet.

“What took you so long?” her aunt demanded as she set foot in the kitchen, and Lillian could only sigh softly.

“Sorry, Aunt Petunia,” she said, the words like ash in her mouth while an all too familiar fury simmered under her skin. _I could kill you,_ were always her thoughts when it came to a head, and more than once she had found herself slipping from her cupboard in the dead of night to sneak into the room where her aunt and uncle slept, blissfully oblivious as to how swiftly she could slice their throats open. _But, alas, the problems of the repercussions of such actions far outweighed the benefit._

Her aunt clicked her tongue. “Never mind. Girl—”

The sound of the doorbell rang through the air, crisp and cutting, and Lillian could only blink at the unexpected turn of events that morning – the twenty-fourth of July which should have been the same as any other – as her aunt bade her to answer to door. It could have been some creep for all her aunt knew, but still—

Lillian opened the door then, peering up at the stranger on the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive, blinking placidly at the man who stood there, hazel eyes looking down at her from behind round spectacles so much like her brother’s. _And that wasn’t where the similarities ended._

“Merlin, you look so much like Lily,” he whispered, pushing his glasses up his nose then, and Lillian felt her eyes narrow.

“Who are you?” she demanded then, stomach twisting in revulsion at the many possible conclusions her brain was forming as she remained locking eyes with the stranger whom she had a horrible feeling wasn’t a stranger at all.

“Didn’t your aunt—no, wait, I suppose she wouldn’t have… She would have contacted us if you had shown any signs of accidental magic… Lily-flower told her to,” he said, and Lillian felt her eyes narrow even further. “What has Petunia told you?”

Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t think I should answer somebody who hasn’t even given their name when I so politely asked,” she said, rocking back on her heels then, arms folded as she stared up at the man, demanding answers he was seemingly reluctant to give.

“Oh… Sorry,” he mumbled then, scratching the back of his head and looking somewhat sheepish then. “I never expected to have to do this…” he trailed off, and Lillian tapped her foot against the floor in annoyance at the man’s blathering. “My name is James Potter,” the man answered, and Lillian balled her hands up into fists, dread sinking into her gut, biting then.

“My father is dead,” Lillian answered, toes curling in the welcome mat then as the man – James Potter – frowned. A dark look crossed his face, his smile coming across that much more forced, just as a shattering of china was heard.

Lillian looked back, green eyes narrowing on Aunt Petunia as she paled, a broken dish at her feet then. Her watery blue eyes were wide, shock written on her face. “Vernon!” she shrieked. “Vernon! They’re here!”

James Potter – her apparently not so deceased father – looked up then, hazel meeting blue and narrowing dangerously. “It would appear we have a lot to talk about…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie dokie, seems like I'm going to have to make this clear for some people:
> 
> Lillian/Sakura is Lillian with the memories of Sakura - not Sakura in Lillian's body and the fact she refers to herself as 'Lillan' rather than Sakura was meant to be a big nod in this direction. She is a child with memories of her previous life, not a traumatised child soldier in the body of a child, meaning she's not about to torture or mind f*ck the Dursleys into treating them better. Rather she's gonna use her shinobi skills relearned via the memories to sneak about behind their backs. Keep in mind Sakura was generally one who faced things head on and punched her way through or used her intelligence rather than manipulating people. Lillian is learning to be cunning and cementing the fact she can't face things head on into her mind while also being very salty about the fact that she was 'abandoned' by the Potters.
> 
> So preferably no one else come forward and say 'Sakura should have done something about the abuse' because Haruno Sakura is dead, and Lillian Potter is a little girl with her memories raised with British morals (ie not the Elemental Nations morals though memories of both have conflicted to make her who she is) who is not about to torture or grievously threaten the Dursleys into behaving no matter how much she might enjoy fantasizing about their deaths and the motions to make it all happen.


	3. Chapter Two | Something Called Magic

“So,” Lillian spoke, stabbing a spoon into her bowl of Fortescue’s Magical Mint ice cream, relishing the popping taste on her tongue. It was something she had never managed to taste in that life, what with the Dursleys refusing to spend a dime on either of them. Trips to the beach were a rarity for them, both of them being left with Mrs Figg. Ice cream was a non-existent treat for them – something which only precious little Duddykins received. “You’re telling me that me and Harry are wizards—”

“You would be classed as a witch,” James, her ever so delightful father _who she had really, really taken a shining to,_ said, smiling hesitantly at the pair of them as they sat opposite. “Wizard is the male term, and it’s what Harry here, and your other brother Jem would be classed as…”

Lillian arched one red eyebrow, disdain written all over her face. “Do they not class pathetic males who abandon their offspring onto the doorsteps of their _muggle_ – I do believe that’s the correct terminology here, but do correct me if I’m wrong – relatives as wizards then?” she asked, thoroughly enjoying the blank, oddly gormless look which settled upon James Potter’s face as she tilted her head, surveying him with palpable amusement as he digested the words she had just spoken. _She had been readying the knife ever since their so-called father had brought them to ‘Diagon Alley’ and she was very happy to take a stab at one James Potter. Multiple times,_ she knew, _would be preferable_. “Do tell. I’m _dying_ to know more about the world you so thoroughly booted us out of at the tender age of one…”

“Lillian,” Harry hissed, grasping at her arm, fear written on his face as he glanced nervously at the hush which seemed to fall around them before James Potter lifted his wand and did something which made the rest of the people around them seem more muted. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked, green eyes narrowing on the hazel-eyed man before the pair of them, arm reaching up, chakra thrumming through it as she readied herself to both defend herself and her brother or get them both away from the pathetic excuse for a man before her.

“Well,” she said, patting at her brother’s arm then. “Stop worrying brother. The people around us appear to be well aware we’re having an argument of sorts, even if they seem to be somewhat muted. Unless our _father_ wishes to be seen as a pathetic, abusive little prick, he won’t hit us,” she drawled. “After all, child abusers often tend to lose public respect when it’s revealed that which they are… you remember the tale of little Jeremy Simpson on the news, don’t you?”

Harry nodded, though Lillian knew he probably wanted to say ‘stop antagonising our father’. Then again, Harry had always been a sweetheart – so very quiet while she tried to draw all the ire of people onto her. It was the best method of protecting her precious brother, or so she had figured out through the years. She drew all the hate, while her brotherly ball of sunshine got off slightly better.

She was the older sibling. It was her duty to protect her little brother – and protect him until her dying breath she would. _After all, she had died trying to protect those she had classed as precious to her once before._

“I’m not some dark wizard!” James exclaimed, looking terribly offended.

Lillian smiled, perfectly pleasant – a mask she had long since perfected before her birth there. “Struck a nerve have I?” she murmured, eyeing him up as a predator would a prey. “My, my… what ever shall I do? Get on my knees and grovel for forgiveness as you so wish?”

“Listen,” James said, cutting her off before she could get another word out, pushing his glasses up his nose, making no move to hit either of them. Lillian decided to put him in the ‘by a minuscule margin better than the Dursleys’ category, which really didn’t say all that much considering her aunt, uncle, and cousin were the lowest of the low. “The only reason we placed you with your mother’s family is because of an event I’ll explain more in detail once we’re in the privacy of our home – but that event drained you both of the magic in your cores… and both the healers and Professor Dumbledore concluded that you would almost certainly be rendered incapable as witch and wizard. A squib is the term used for people born to magical parents who can’t use magic… and they aren’t treated very well here… and, well, we’re lucky in the fact your mother came from a muggle family originally… meaning we thought you could be raised safely out in the muggle world and get jobs and have a proper life out in the muggle world – something which you would have been denied had you stayed in the wizarding world,” he continued, _as if the facts behind the reasoning made anything and everything so much better._

“So the fact you have _good_ reasons for—”

Harry kicked her in the shin, glaring at her pointedly then, and Lillian knew when best to concede, lest she be subjected to a huffy Harry for a few days on end.

“Fine,” she muttered, burying the anger and resentment she felt for her _sperm donor_ within the depths of her mind. She knew how to hold onto grudges, and the best revenge and spite were sometimes best served cold. _Stone cold_. Her eyes narrowed, and she straightened herself up then. Aunt Petunia had liked to call her a scruffy lout. Lillian liked to spite her by walking with her head held high and her clothes as neat as possible. “You mentioned something about needing to go shopping now – for our _wands_ and some books that our egg donor suggested to better help us adapt to the _wizarding_ world.”

“Egg donor?” James stared at her then, and Lillian merely raised an eyebrow, giving him the patented ‘I am displeased with you peasant’ look she had learnt from her dear Uchiha teammate once upon a time. “She’s your mother!”

Lillian snorted, finishing her ice cream then, pushing the bowl away as she climbed to her feet. “As far as I’m concerned my mother would be the one who raised me – and guess what… I raised myself, along with Harry,” she said, turning on her heel then, relishing in the presence of her brother at her side then. “Those declaring themselves to be our mother or our father, who abandoned us and let us think they were both dead, will forever be egg donor and sperm donor respectively to me at the very least,” she remarked. “So, come along, dear sperm donor. I do believe we have some shopping to do—”

James bristled, hazel eyes narrowing on her then. “And I might very well send you home should you keep that tone up, young lady—”

“My, are you going to deprive us of education and the tools we so need to get anywhere in this life, dear sperm donor?” Lillian tilted her head in question. “I can safely say you’re well on the way to remaining as simple a ‘sperm donor’ to me. Tell me, are you sure you won’t be breaking any rules by trying to ensure we remain dim-witted dullards? Do you think _sending me home_ will make me love you any more – do you think it’ll help us become a family, like you so said you wanted us to? Or were all those words merely filthy lies?”

Her _father_ gritted his teeth, and then hurried them out of the ice cream parlour quickly.

Lillian took it as a victory.

* * *

After arguing with her sperm donor on the need for books and more books about various different topics relating to the world they were only just entering – an argument which she had won, because she had a lifetime of persuasive abilities which worked even when there was little love between her and _daddy dearest_ – she and Harry found themselves standing before ‘Ollivanders’ who apparently were ‘Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.’ if the sign was anything to go by, peeling gold letters on dark, varnished wood.

The bell jingled and rang as the three of them entered, and then there was a rush of movement. A man with a head of fluffy white hair and bright bluish grey eyes which seemed to stare through her emerged then from what looked like bookshelves, but rather than books like there had been in Flourish and Blotts there were boxes and boxes of what Lilliam presumed to be wands. _It was a wand shop, or a wand smith, however wizards called it_. “Ah yes. Yes, yes,” the man Lillian was going to go out on a limb and assume was this Ollivander fellow spoke, his voice soft and oddly wispy. _Like his hair_. “I thought I’d be seeing you both soon. Lillian Potter. Harry Potter. It was only yesterday your brother was in here, buying his first wand… James Potter Jr. Eleven inches long, nice and supple, made of holly. Suited to a wizard who might have a bit of a temper and quickness to curb.” Lillian felt her eyes narrow at the mention of their _eldest_ brother whom neither of them had met. Though it didn’t stop Lillian from hating his guts. Older siblings were meant to protect their younger ones. He’d done bugger all on that front. “James Potter,” Ollivander said, eyes fixing on her sperm donor then, and Lillian found herself feeling quite relieved to be free of that eerie stare. “Eleven inches long, pliable, made of mahogany. Excellent for Transfiguration.”

“You remember,” her sperm donor mumbled.

Lillian rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

A sharp elbow jabbed into her side, and Lillian scowled, softening only when her precious brother sent her a pleading look. He had never particularly liked conflict – what with the pair of them being victims of it more often than not. Lillian had liked to think those brutish bullies had merely been _practice_ for regaining her martial abilities. _Though she still had a ways to go before she was as proficient as she had once been._ “Be nice, Lillian,” Harry hissed. “Please.”

“If you ask that of me, dear family, I can hardly deny you that,” she said, hugging her brother then, sneering at their sperm donor over his shoulder. “I guess I can play _nice_ for a short while.”

“Thank you,” Harry murmured, manners beaten into him thanks to the Dursleys. _Lillian wondered if she’d be able to kill them all and get away with it using magic._ Though she would certainly need to find out more if she even wanted to entertain the possibility.

“No problem, darling,” she said, scowling as Ollivander coughed pointedly. “Yes,” she hissed then, glaring at the older wizard. “You’re forgiven for interrupting a touching moment between the only family in this shop,” she grumbled, wincing at Harry’s pointed sigh. “Sorry, Harry,” she muttered under her breath.

Harry smiled at her, patting her hair, amusement palpable at her grimace. “Thank you, Lillian,” he said, showing that shy, mischievous side to him which Lillian had tried to keep intact over all the years along with his kindness. Lillian liked to think she had done a pretty fine job of doing just that, despite the Dursleys and all their attempts to quash their happiness, along with their freakishness. Spite was an excellent motivator. “Now,” he continued, grabbing her attention back before it could stray too far, pulling out of her embrace and turning to the wandmaker then. “Wands?”

Ollivander smiled, and Lillian only folded her arms and gestured for Harry to go first, watching as Ollivander bustled about to pull out a box from what looked like a random place on the shelves. The elderly wizard presented to wand to her brother then, smiling eagerly as Harry picked it up.

The windows exploded, and Lillian could only blink at the _dangerous weapon_ in her brother’s hands. She was rather uncertain on how she felt about that. _But Harry would get his wand, just as she._ It was only fortunate her brother wasn’t injured by any of the wands he picked up. Rather they seemed to be showing their distaste for her brother via affecting the environment. Ollivander had assured her – somehow sensing her dark emotions – that all was perfectly safe and that wands could sometimes be fickle things. He was a so-called master of his craft. Lillian decided to put her trust in him somewhat when it came to wands and their wiles.

Lillian wasn’t sure how many wands her brother went through before he found his match.

“Eleven and a quarter inches,” Ollivander said, staring at the golden sparks which had erupted from the whitish wand. “Nice and supple, made of yew… with the core of a phoenix feather… a wand most suitable for a young wizard who will grow to be a fierce protector, as I suspect you will be,” he continued, glancing between her and him then. “Curious,” he mumbled then. “So very curious.”

Harry turned to him.

“What—” James Potter began, yelping as Lillian’s foot came down on his own. _And if there was chakra involved, then that was entirely her own business._

“Let Harry ask _his_ question,” she snarled, not bothering to even look or sneer at the being she was dubbing as a pathetic toerag. _There were far too many insulting things she could call him that is was actually oddly hard to settle on one nickname for her sperm donor._

“Sorry, but what’s curious?” Harry asked then, and Lillian smiled happily, ignoring her sperm donor _who was probably looking at her either angry or hurt._ Lillian was well versed in the art of giving no fucks about other people and their thoughts by that point, and she used that experience to focus her attention solely on her brother.

“Curious, yes,” Ollivander murmured. “It is curious, that this wand should choose you, Mr Potter, because the phoenix whose feather resides in that wand gave others – three others, to be precise. One is still waiting to find its match, while another resides in your brother’s wand, and the last—”

“I don’t—”

Lillian stomped on his foot again mercilessly. “Continue,” she ordered, smirking as she spied her sperm donor shuffling away from the range of the stomping distance of her feet.

“The last resided in the wand of the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I think it is clear that we can expect great things from you, Mr Potter, just as we can expect great things from the Boy-Who-Lived…” he trailed off, leaving Lillian to wonder who exactly he was talking about.

“I will explain things further once we return to our home,” James said quietly, and Lillian only hummed softly in sceptical acknowledgement.

“Lillian!” Harry called, smiling brightly, new wand in hand. “It’s your turn!”

Lillian hummed, a smile set upon her face then, green eyes boring up into those bluish grey ones which were narrowed and staring at her curiously then. She tilted her head then, offering out her right hand. “I’m ambidextrous, but I favour my right,” she said, waiting for the tape measure to do its thing.

Ollivander only stared, stroking his beardless chin. “I wonder,” he murmured, vanishing off into the shelves without another word, and Lillian could only blink at the sounds of rustling and the “ah ha!” as he found that which he was searching for.

The elderly wizard re-emerged then, a satisfied and oddly eager smile set upon his face. “I think it no coincidence both of your brothers have wound up with feathers of the same phoenix as their wand cores…” he said, trailing off with a frown then despite the eager look in his eyes. “Though it will be a wonder if you bond with this wand,” he mumbled, opening the box then, revealing a wand made from a silvery wood which seemed to glimmer somewhat in the light. “Eleven inches, reasonably springy, and made of a wood I have yet to see bond with anyone. _Elder wood,_ if you would like to know. Reputed to be unlucky, and scorns the company of those who are not superior to it so…”

“I thought elder was more common a core for a wizard’s second or third wand – that’s what you told me once before,” her sperm donor chimed then, and Lillian reached out and plucked the wand from its box. “Even there I haven’t heard—”

A feeling of rightness surged through her, a grin stretching across her face then as green and silver sparks shot from its tip, shutting her sperm donor up, much to the delight of herself and Ollivander as he stared at her and her wonderful wand. Her fingers ran down the fine grain. “We’re going to do something great together,” she murmured, enjoying the thrum of energy under her skin. _Her magic which felt so very different to her chakra._

“I do not doubt you will,” Ollivander said merrily.

Lillian smiled, happier than she had been when she had originally walked into the shop. “Tell me,” she said then. “Is there any way to store my wand safely when I’m on the move?” she asked, no longer minding those bluish grey eyes which had unnerved her – and still did somewhat. “Is there any sort of polish required?”

They left the wand shop some galleons lighter, with a wand holster and wand care kit in tow, Lillian humming merrily all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So:
> 
> James "Jem" Potter has the canonical holly wand, but this time there are more phoenix feathers in play.
> 
> I chose Yew as Harry's wand wood, because in the right hands they belong to 'fierce protectors' and Harry is going to be a very angry badger intent on protecting his darling older sister who has done so much for him (fierce protector, see? It works!). He's been sheltered a lot thanks to Lillian/Sakura which is why he's turned out kinder and more prone to being the 'peacemaker' of the lot, because let's be real Lillian/Sakura is a right firecracker here.
> 
> I chose Elder as Lillian/Sakura's wand because she is very well acquainted with death but has been reborn (phoenix feather, anyone?) and has a destiny set ahead of her which will be revealed in good time. I figure a shinobi's company could be considered superior in some respects in the eyes of such a wand, hence why it bonds with her. Also because phoenixes seem to symbolise life while elder wood seems to have connotations relating to death (what with the Elder Wand quite literally being made from elder wood). Meaning you have Sakura who knows life and death having bonded with a wand which could be seen as having conflicting natures.
> 
> Which is probably why Ollivander was so very interested about who would bond with such a wand...
> 
> Meh. Good luck figuring out who's the right boy who lived, because it might not be as simple as you think - and the WBWL tag is more because it might be confusing as to who's the right one.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Chapter Three | The Noble House of Potter

Lillian quickly discovered that she despised apparition – the method through which one James Potter used to bring them to the edge of the lands of the Potter Manor. It left her feeling terribly queasy and she had barely been able to keep her feet, something she attributed to her stellar, trained reflexes. Her brother hadn’t been as lucky.

“Here,” Lillian said, offering out a hand to her fallen brother then.

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, taking it and letting himself be hauled to his feet, before immediately leaning over to throw up in the rosebushes. A sight which caused Lillian no small amount of amusement, considering _whose_ rosebushes Harry was throwing up in.

“I probably ought to have warned you,” their sperm donor said, wrinkling his nose at Harry, and Lillian barely refrained from giving him a trademarked Uchiha glare – settling instead for simply focusing on her brother and ignoring the man who stood a little off to the waysides.

“Indeed,” Lillian muttered, rolling her eyes then. “There are many things you could have done with telling us poor abandoned children about,” she said, ignoring the way James Potter tensed beside her at her words. _Really, it was too easy to get a reaction out of him._ “Come, dearest brother,” she said then as Harry stood up straight, wiping at the corners of his mouth with his sleeve.

She was only grateful they would soon be out of Dudley’s second-hand clothing, what with their _wonderful_ sperm donor having gotten them tailored robes at this ‘Madam Malkin’s’ place before they had gone to the book shop. They wouldn’t have been in Dudley’s hemmed clothing if they had been lucky enough to be like their eldest brother. So Lillian only saw it right that they received proper clothing – which wasn’t discoloured and threadbare like that which they were wearing right then and there.

“We’ll need to get you added to the wards,” their sperm donor said, and Lillian could only frown at him then.

“Wards?” she demanded.

“There are defensive wards situated all over the property to keep out those who would try to hurt us – like the Malfoys, for instance,” he said, evidently forgetting that she and Harry weren’t his eldest son, and thereby had zero clue as to who these _Malfoys_ were, nor what _wards_ actually were. They were obviously a defensive mechanism, but the hows and whys… Lillian shrugged, figuring she could attempt to research what they were a little while later. A book would be better than having listen to her sperm donor, or her egg donor try to explain it as well as themselves. “Just like there are wards at Privet Drive to protect you both.”

Lillian snorted. “To protect us from what? Harm?” She scoffed then. Folding her arms as she stared at what could only be a mansion. It was large and sprawling, far bigger than any house Lillian had ever seen before, certainly more so than Privet Drive.

“Lillian,” Harry hissed, and she only huffed.

“He deserves to know what he subjected us to when he dumped us on the doorstep of our _dear_ aunt’s house without a care in the world,” she grumbled, following ever so slowly as James Potter led them up towards the far too ostentatious doors before them. _Complete with lion-head knockers._ Lillian sneered at the red doors, something ugly stirring in her gut as they walked up the steps and through those doors and into a fancy room which had stairs lined with red runners on either side, leading up to the first floor – and it was across that landing of polished wood that the sound of footsteps could be heard.

“We didn’t leave you on the doorstep,” her sperm donor said softly behind her, voice filled with annoyance and regret. “We would never leave children on a doorstep on a cold autumn night… I handed you and Harry over to Petunia myself, no matter what she’s told you…” he trailed off, looking confused and pained at the same time. Lillian rolled her eyes.

“Mum! Mum!” came the voice of what could only be their eldest brother from further inside their new residence, and their sperm donor shifted on his feet. “They’re back! They’re here!”

Her jaw tightened, even as what looked like a slightly larger version of Harry came racing down the stairs a joyful, carefree smile on his face like he wasn’t about to greet the two siblings who had been pawned off to the evil aunt and co. The eyes were the main things which were different – a carbon copy of their sperm donor’s hazel eyes. _Oh, and then there was the fact he had a good three inches on the both of them. They joys of not being starved in the cupboard under the stairs,_ or so Sakura mused as she glared at the creature they had shared the womb with. _He was the one their parents had chosen over the both of them._

Lillian despised him for that.

“Hi!” the being she had shared the womb with said, smiling brightly at them as though nothing were wrong. _As though they hadn’t been thrown out on their backsides and forgotten about up until that point_. “I’m James Potter Jr, but everybody calls me Jem! It’s great to finally have you here…”

Harry smiled – the sweet boy that he was.

Lillian smiled too. It wasn’t a nice smile, even as she reached up and patted Jem’s cheek. “I wish I could say the same, being I shared the womb with,” she said, breezing past him then even as her sperm donor sighed in the background and Harry shuffled awkwardly on his feet. “Now, sperm donor, I believe you promised us a proper explanation of things…” she continued, gesturing out in front of her. “I do hope you won’t try to keep us as ignorant as you deemed fit these last ten or so years…”

* * *

She lay on her bed, book stretched out before her as she crossed her ankles above her, musing all the while on what she had learnt that very day. Her older brother had apparently survived something called the ‘Killing Curse’ a green beam of instant death, and had somehow defeated a powerful Dark Wizard called Voldemort – though most referred to him as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who – in the process. This had dubbed their brother ‘The Boy Who Lived’ and had made she and Harry both appear to be squibs, what with Jem having seemingly drained both of their magical cores – what with them being triplets, and multiple births often resulted in a magical connection between the siblings.

Mummy and Daddy dearest had then decided with some help from this ‘Dumbledore’ figure that it would be safest for them to enter the muggle world and be raised there, what with them appearing to be these ‘squibs’ who were discriminated against very harshly in the Wizarding World.

A knock on the door interrupted her reading time, and Lillian glanced up as her twin stuck her head around the door. “Lillian…” Harry shifted on his feet. “We’re having… family time in the Reading Room…” Green eyes darted around, hope written on his face as he glanced at her. Her stomach twisted, annoyance filling her at the thought of Harry interacting so very happily with their so-called family. Then again, Harry had always been so happy, so eager, so very wishing for their family to arrive and sweep them away – like what had just happened. They were free from the Dursleys, or so it seemed, at least until they had to go back the next summer to refresh the blood wards there. Her lip curled at the thought.

To Harry, though, that was all that had mattered. He was all for giving people chances, more so with him not liking the constant conflicts she got herself into. It was probably why he was trying to play the part of the lost son returned home. _Like they hadn’t been sent away, abandoned, forgotten. Like their brother Jem hadn’t been having a happy time playing about and being tutored while they huddled together in the cupboard under the stairs as cold and hunger ate away at them in the darkness. Alone. Forgotten. All except for each other._

“You want me to come, don’t you?” she grumbled, hating herself as Harry shuffled awkwardly on his feet before her, looking nervous for her reaction. Lillian hated it, because Harry had never directed such an expression her way. _Because of the Potters, and the egg donor, sperm donor, and the creature they had shared the womb with._

Harry nodded. “Can’t you give them a chance?” he asked, looking hopelessly hopeful and naïve.

Lillian smiled nicely, if only to get _that_ expression off her twin’s face, guilt and irritation burning within. He had never looked at her like that before they had met their so-called family. And there he was, asking her to give them a chance, but Lillian didn’t forget nor forgive so easily as her brother. She always hated to wonder what life would have been like if she didn’t remember being Sakura. _She was fairly certain they’d be dead, or at least halfway on their way to being had she not been who she was._ But she remembered being Sakura, she remembered what it was like to have a loving family, and the Potters, excluding her Harry, had fallen far short of the mark.

She didn’t think they would ever be able to claw their way into her good graces.

But then again, she was so very weak when it came to Harry. Innocent, sweet Harry. Lillian closed her eyes and groaned, slamming her book shut with a satisfying thud. “Fine,” she grumbled, hating the way how Harry looked so very excited as she rolled off her new bed and made her way to the door.

For Harry, she could put up with the rest of the Potters for at least ten minutes – but then again, she would do pretty much anything for her dear brother.


	5. Chapter Four | A House Call

James Potter cradled a bottle of firewhisky and wondered for the first time in his life where it had all gone wrong. It was meant to be a joyous day – they had found out that Harry and Lillian weren’t squibs after all, meaning Jem would get to be raised with his siblings once more, as they had before that fateful night. But that wasn’t it – it was no joyous day, rather a culmination of all the mistakes they had seemingly made leading up to that very day. Lillian and Harry weren’t squibs, and they had made a terrible mistake which couldn’t be undone.

“We shouldn’t have given them to the Dursleys,” he spat, glaring at the fireplace as if it would change a damned thing – as if it would change the fact that his daughter hated him and his youngest son flinched whenever he moved too quickly.

“No,” Lily whispered, nursing her own bottle of firewhisky – a rare sight – proving just how much of a toll the events of the day had taken on her. “But I thought Petunia had changed…” Paper smacked down on the table, and James could only blink at the sight of the letters, still unopened. “Lillian Potter, _The Cupboard under the Stairs,_ ” Lily hissed. “The Cupboard _under_ the stairs, James! How didn’t we notice that sooner?”

“It’s the same on Harry’s letter too,” James mumbled, staring at the emerald green ink as though those words might magically rearrange themselves into something nicer. “I told you – we should have just raised them all together… then none of this _shit_ would’ve happened…”

“It was what was safest for them,” Lily said, sipping from the bottle then, glaring at the bookshelf opposite the armchair in which she sat in. “You heard what Dumbledore said… Voldemort is still out there… and the prophecy… and Jem…”

James stood up sharply. “We could have protected them here – even if they were squibs!” he declared, even as Lily continued drinking miserably.

“Just like we protected them _that_ night?” she asked, venom lining her voice then, even as she bitterly glared at the bookshelves in that little corner of what they liked to call the Reading Room. The same room their daughter had flitted about in for ten minutes before storming back to her room, unwilling to be in their presence for very long.

He sat back down, glaring at the flickering flames once more as though they could solve all of their problems. “That was different, and you know it – it was an emergency Order Meeting which we were _asked_ to attend after what Peter found out—”

Emerald green eyes narrowed. “And the next time we were both called out of the house?” she asked, glaring at him then, rising to her feet, setting her bottle of firewhisky down. “What would have happened then? We would have come home to find our _squib_ children skinned and gutted like _animals_ just for being our children!”

“Lily-flower—”

“No, James! Don’t you _Lily-flower_ me!” she snarled, prodding a finger to his chest as he stood. “Don’t you understand? When Dumbledore and the Healers told me two of our children were squibs, I was glad – happy they could grow up free from this accursed world where witch and wizard _torture_ and _slaughter_ those for being different from them! That’s the world I wanted them out of…” Her shoulders slumped, shaking then as they lost that hard edge. “Even if it meant them never knowing the brighter, _magical_ side of the wizarding world…”

“Harry and Lillian aren’t your parents, Lils,” James murmured, arms coming up then to wrap around his wife, hazel eyes narrowing as he remembered the day they had found the Evans’. “It wasn’t your fault…” he said softly, hating the tears he could feel soaking through his shirt. “It was the work of those slimy slytherins…” he muttered, remembering those green crests on school robes as they mocked and laughed at muggleborns. “The ones who thought they had a say in who I married…”

Lily sighed, pulling away then, eyes still red and somewhat puffy as she flopped back on her armchair and took another swig. “I thought Petunia would take care of them…”

“She was always such a bitch—”

“We made up!” Lily hissed. “Petunia came to some sort of acceptance and moved on, and we _made up_ – you were there…” she trailed off, fuming then. “That’s the only reason I thought they’d be fine growing up there! If I had known…”

“What’s done is done,” he muttered then, downing the last of his firewhisky then. “We need to focus on getting them out of that house… They need to adjust to the Potter Family Magic the grounds are saturated in… and depending on how well it takes to them…” He sighed, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. “We shouldn’t have left them—”

“Shouldn’t have left _who_?” a voice asked, and James felt his head snap up, fingers clenched around his wand reflexively.

A figure stood there, just in front of the fireplace, dark eyes and long, sleek dark black non-greasy hair tied back in a ponytail, telling him exactly who it was who had barged into his house at such an hour.

“Snape!” he hissed, scowling then as he was ignored in favour of his wife.

“Ignatius,” Lily greeted warmly, making a familiar jealousy burn in his gut as the youngest Snape brother stuck his tongue out at him. “You know we prefer it when you announce your presence and don’t let yourself in…”

“Well, Lils,” Snape said, slinging an arm around Lily’s shoulders dramatically then. _James wanted to curse it off._ “Afraid I’m on official Hogwarts business this time – Minnie was wondering whether two of your children would be opening their letters anytime soon, eh?” He tilted his head. “But seriously, I didn’t know you had _three_ children – they’d all have to be triplets, and there haven’t been triplets born to any magical family since the Perevells!”

“Snape!” James hissed once more, the topic of the triplets being somewhat sore, given the reactions of their recently returned family members.

Ignatius Snape turned, smiling then at him. “Oh, James, Jamie James… didn’t see you there!” He declared, seemingly oblivious to the twitch which was quickly developing in his eye.

“Snape,” he said again, glaring at the taller man.

“Yes, that is my name, dear,” Snape said, fluttering his eyelashes and smiling in a way which told James he knew exactly what he was doing. _And this was exactly why he hated the youngest Snape brother,_ he mused. _Though in reality he hated all of them, but the middle brother was the one he’d prefer to speak to, if he had to speak with any of them._

Maverik Mordred Snape was at least bearable, even if he had the most ridiculous name of them all.

* * *

Jem Potter had quickly come to a decision after all the events of that day.

He _hated_ Lillian Potter, his younger sister. Already, he could hear their parents arguing _because of her and her attitude towards them all_ , both of them having forgotten to activate the silencing wards around that room. All he had done was come downstairs for a cup of hot chocolate, and to see if maybe he could sneak some biscuits off his parents, but that wasn’t to be. He had quickly scurried back upstairs, not wanting to listen.

His parents had never argued like that before, and that was really what everything had boiled down to. Harry was OK, if just a bit too shy for some reason – Jem really couldn’t work out why his brother was so very different to him. He would need to be braver like his _older_ brother if he wanted to get into Gryffindor where all good Potters belonged. _There was a reason their house was mostly decked in reds and golds._

It was only since Lillian had arrived and had been so terribly _rude_ to them all – _and for what?_ His lip curled, day ruined when his little sister had opened her mouth and spat venom like some slimy snaky slytherin. _Their father had gone to introduce them to the wonderful world of magic, and his mother had always told him how wonderful it had been to be introduced to such a world._ Jem didn’t understand why his sister was being so _angry._ It made no sense. None whatsoever.

That hadn’t been how it was supposed to be. All of them were Potters, all of them were a family, and families were meant to be happy together. _Like they had been before that day, when three letters arrived – sent to them because they needed to introduce his other siblings to magic, given they had been muggle-raised until that point._ A sneer crossed his expression as he thought on everything Lillian had said to him, brief and cutting though it had been. Really, she had seemed to hate muggles _just like a slimy slytherin,_ his mind added, adding to his worsening impression of his little sister.

She wasn’t a nice person.

Harry was nicer, and truly, Jem couldn’t work out how they had grown up together. _How was it possible for two siblings to grow up so very differently in the same house?_ Jem didn’t know. He didn’t think he really wanted to know the answer. Looking things up in books was too ravenclaw for him. He was a gryffindor through and through, and he’d be the pride of their house, _unlike a certain sibling of his_.

He knocked on his brother’s door then, peering in a second later when no answer came, hazel eyes narrowing when he spied nobody inside. “Harry?” he called, wondering if his twin brother was hiding or something. _It was going to be so cool having a twin brother – just like the Weasleys!_ Though sadly there would be no switching pranks, on account of them not being identical. He peered around the room, bland and boring as it was, shrugging then as he couldn’t find his brother. “Huh…” he mumbled, wondering where his brother was.

The answer came in the form of his brother’s laughter.

His eyes narrowed, glaring then at the door across the hallway. _Lillian’s Room_ was spelled in gold letters. His brother was with _Lillian._ Jem felt his lip curl at the thought, something ugly curling in the pit of his stomach then. He tucked away the exploding snap he’d been wanting to play with his twin brother then, turning on his heel and walking back to his room.

It was near enough time for him to go to bed anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did tag POV multiple, and I'm finally making good on it.
> 
> You get this chapter sooner than I planned thanks to the guest who thought I had nothing planned out and that the Dursleys were getting 'plot armour' (and that Sakura is a doormat, and who managed to push my buttons, meaning there might be a thin veneer of spite in this A/N here) when reading solely from a biased Lillian/Sakura POV. They pushed my buttons, so you get this, but it ties in which is why you get it. Everyone is human in this, and I try to portray it as best I can. They have their own histories and traumas. Lily and James do the best they can from their POVs, and Jem is a bit of a spoiled brat, but he's a child meaning he's got time to grow.
> 
> I also feel the need to mention I'm doing some worldbuilding here, and there are reasons hinted at here in this chapter as to why it's not so simple to move Harry and Lillian from the Dursleys. They're not moving out from the Dursleys so very quickly, because this ties into a plot point which will reveal itself in good time. I'm not doing stuff for no apparent reason.
> 
> This is also AU, as I mentioned in the first A/N but some people don't seem to read it when I say I have things somewhat planned out, meaning characters (canon ones at least) won't act like their canon counterparts necessarily because it's AU, meaning some things have changed.


	6. Chapter Five | Harry James Potter

His breaths came in harsh pants as he woke up, eyes flickering open to find a ceiling which was high above his head – not the cupboard. It wasn’t the cupboard, and that fact in itself was rather startling to him. The soft, steady puffs of air against his collar told him that Lillian was still fast asleep, which was good – sometimes she had nightmares too, and oftentimes woke him up too then, what with how she startled awake. Something about it made him think he got off slightly easier with all the nightmares he had. They had spoken sometimes, about the nightmares they had, more so when they had both huddled together under the thin blankets together in the cupboard under the stairs, whispered confessions of their deepest, darkest fears. Those were eerily similar in nature, which perhaps was very telling of the way they had been treated. They had no one else but themselves, what with all adults on and around Privet Drive seeming to despise them on sight, and so they feared losing each other more than anything in the world.

Though he suspected that on Lillian’s side it was because she was concerned for him, always seeing him as smaller and weaker, and in some ways he was. _It grated on him, truly it did._ He could still remember sprinting out of primary school when Dudley had begun a came called ‘Harry Hunting’. He still remembered being thrown to the ground and kicked around. He still remembered the adults saying _boys will be boys_ and doing nothing to stop their children from chasing him down and roughing him up. _Harmless fun,_ they had called it, eyes seeming to glaze over and slid over the cuts, scrapes, and bruises he had earned from their _games._

_“Run into the backstreets,”_ his sister had told him. _“Someplace no one will see,”_ she had said, and he had put his trust in her rather than adults, as he had many a times before. It went against logic, to run into the shadows where Dudley, Piers, and all the rest of Dudley’s gang would be able to beat him up that much more without the eyes of the adults which quelled the violence somewhat. _There was a line,_ they were all vaguely aware, _and if they crossed it, no matter how much everyone seemed to hate them, it wouldn’t be able to be written off as boys being boys._ Still, he had run into the shadows of a little cut through between two houses, and lo and behold Lillian was there as planned.

She had broken Piers’ nose and decked Dudley and summarily dealt with the rest of them, taunting them and sneering at them, making them not tell a single soul what happened there _‘unless they wanted everyone to know they had beaten by a girl’_. Harry wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with being ‘beaten up by a girl’ compared to being beaten up by a boy, but they hadn’t said anything, hadn’t pointed the fingers and blamed them and gotten them in trouble. It had worked, and ‘Harry Hunting’ had stopped soon after.

Lillian was who he went to when he was in trouble. It had been that way since he was little – though he had tried the adults in their school for a little while, what with how they were supposed to be people they could trust. _Lies_. His sister was strange in that way, and it wasn’t until he had grown up a bit that he realised that he had Lillian to turn to, _but Lillian didn’t have anybody to turn to_. It was just him and Lillian – Lillian and him – and that was about the time he figured out his goal for the future. _Something they had been talking about in class at time._ He wanted to get stronger, to become someone his older sister could rely on, the way he had always relied on her, and not just because Uncle Vernon called him a ‘nancy boy’ and claimed it inappropriate to rely on his sister all the time.

They weren’t with Uncle Vernon anymore. Rather they were with the Potters. Their sperm donor, egg donor, and the being they had shared the womb with, or so Lillian had described them. Harry wanted to be able to call them father, mother, and brother, but whether he would be able to call them such and mean it was another thing entirely. Lillian taught him that some things had to be earned. _Trust, for one._

Both of them had gone to bed with their bellies full, both of their beds covered in quilts and pillows which weren’t worn and threadbare. James Potter had gotten them things which they could call their own, and Harry was grateful for that. _Though he wasn’t grateful they had been left in the first place – at least they had come back. Things would’ve probably been worse if the Potters hadn’t come back for them._ That, he thought, was the main thing, though he doubted Lillian would really ever be able to say that too. Something which could be lain at all of their feet, or so Harry mused. He had a softness about him, something which Lillian didn’t have. _Something which his sister had cast aside in favour of him._ He was soft, always trying to forgive and find reason in others’ actions towards him and his twin. Lillian was harsher, as if she was glass crushed underfoot which had been remade to create something with jagged edges, cutting and so very willing to let them bleed. She held grudges against people, with only one exception – him.

That was why he could never hate Lillian, no matter how she treated others around them, no matter how he flinched when she had beaten down others and thrown them about _like Uncle Vernon,_ no matter how his stomach had curled at the sight of the blood on her knuckles and the wild look in those green eyes – no matter when those people wondered why his sister was so cruel to others. Harry knew that they simply didn’t understand his sister like he did. _Even their so-called older brother was clueless as to how wonderful Lillian could be._ Harry didn’t like that. But they would see. Everyone would see one day, and Harry promised himself so.

Things were going to change from then on.

“We’ll be able to call this place home one day,” he whispered, smiling then as he looked around Lillian’s room – the place where they had both fallen asleep.

A snort sliced through the air, cutting and derisive. “One of us might,” Lillian muttered, and Harry startled at the sight of those bright green eyes open and staring at him. He shifted where he lay then, remembering the hatred which had simmered behind those green eyes of hers earlier, unfathomably deep and poisonous.

His shoulders sunk then, part of him wondering if it was so wrong to want them to be one big happy family – to want to put the Dursleys behind them and move on to better, bigger things. _They were witch and wizard!_ “Oh,” he mumbled, guilt eating at him, what with how much he wanted to get along with Jem and their parents when Lillian seemed to want the exact opposite. He wanted to _support_ his older sister, after all. She was the one who had—

“Stop it,” Lillian grumbled then, huffing at him then. “Your thoughts are all over your face. You can play with the Potters if you want,” she said, sitting up then, face illuminated by the sliver of moonlight which filtered through the small gap in the curtains. “I can hardly hold that against you… just don’t come crying to me when they all turn on us again,” she continued, folding her arms then. “This place will never be a home to me.”

“The Dursleys—”

“My home is with you, only you, imbecile,” Lillian grumbled, flopping back down on the bed then, and Harry could only stare at her, chest feeling all so very warm. _Soft-hearted sap,_ Lillian had called him many a times when he had gotten teary, but Harry always saw the fond smile on her lips whenever she muttered anything like that.

Lillian was mean, very mean, to those who earnt her ire, but she was kind to him in ways nobody ever really saw. It was always them against the world – or it had been. Harry hoped that would change soon, and that no one else hated either himself or his prickly, strange sister.

The same prickly, strange sister who had apparently mastered the art of appearing to be asleep when she was actually awake, but Lillian was an odd master of many a weird, trivial things.

* * *

Many a muggleborns and muggle-raised half-bloods oftentimes complained about their workrooms, claiming them to be dull, dreary, and forbidding. His older brother liked to call them ‘dunderheaded morons who wouldn’t know what a book was even if he walloped them over the head with the thick side of one’ _,_ because _didn’t they know some potions were sensitive to sunlight and would react violently?_

Maverik thought that they probably didn’t know that much, mostly because they were children who ran about screaming and just generally doing childish things which didn’t tend to involve reading books, _unless they were Ravenclaws or just particularly studious_ , and sunlight-sensitive potions generally only came up at NEWT level. All his eldest brother’s complaining was partially the reason both he and Ignatius had agreed to take over the lower years of the school, leaving their elder brother free to teach the NEWT level students. His older brother was a certified genius when it came to potions, but, as Maverik and Ignatius had learned well from their own experiences with their brother’s _lessons,_ being a genius did not equate to one being able to teach children well.

To borrow one of his brother’s favourite words, Maverik rather thought Albus Dumbledore to be a dunderheaded moron because of the decision to foist the position of ‘professor’ upon their prickly older brother. _There was also the fact he had tried to keep both he and Ignatius out and away from their dear brother, until Professor McGonagall – Merlin bless her cotton socks – had made Dumbledore see reason._ Though admittedly, perhaps that was because of the constant owls which he had been behind, and the howlers Ignatius had delighted in sending. Dumbledore had relented, they had come, and for the years since the war, they had improved the standards for potions.

Ignatius was far more adept at getting the younger ones to listen, flittering between being that nice, cheery professor lots of children liked and being as merlin-damned terrifying as he knew he could be. Maverik himself was quite happy with overseeing the third, fourth, and fifth years, what with Ignatius having taught them the basics. Though he wasn’t quite sure in regards to the oncoming third years, what with Ignatius being glad to be rid of who he termed the ‘Weasley Twins’, and given Ignatius was by far the most even tempered and willing to joke around, it did say something.

The door to the main potions classroom banged open, and Maverik looked up from his lesson plans, having edited them from the year previous the way a certain runes teacher constantly badgered them to. _Bothersome,_ was all Maverik could think in regards to him, more so when—

“That lemon drop addled fool!” Severus hissed as he made his way across to where he and Ignatius sat, black robe flaring out behind him as he hurried over towards the third conjured chair in their little corner like a looming spectre.

Ignatius snorted. “What did Dumbles do this time around?” he asked, tilting his head then. “It can’t be that bad… Dumbles is old, but he’s not going senile just yet.”

“He might as well be,” Severus muttered, seating himself with a huff, and Maverik could only frown at the unusually tired and concerned expression settled on his older brother’s face then. “There are two things, actually.”

Ignatius sat forwards, a grin on his lips. “Do share.”

“You are a terrible gossip,” Maverik grumbled, glaring at their youngest sibling then.

“True,” Ignatius said, “but I don’t quite see how that is relevant to the situation before us,” he continued, sending a beaming smile his way before blithely turning back to look at their brother. “Come on, Sev. Spill the beans. What has got your knickers in a twist this time around?”

Severus sent a withering glare which made Ignatius beam even harder before seeming to relent. “He wants to make me teach the first years,” he muttered, and Maverik frowned at that.

“Oh, Dumbles, Dumbles, Dumbles,” Ignatius sang, sitting back in his chair then, shaking his head as he whistled. “Is he not aware that we have a system? One which has been working for years, and has improved the standards of the grades here… because of our system…”

Maverik pressed his hand to his face and sighed. “Why _this_ year?”

Severus sighed, glancing between the both of them then. “He thinks I should ‘face my trauma’ for some reason,” he said, and Maverik summoned Jilsey, one of the House Elves, to bring them some firewhisky. _He had a feeling they would need it._ “You know what the headmaster is like… always so eager to smooth and overcome past hurts… and for me, well that’s…”

“The Potters,” Ignatius said succinctly, expression flat for the barest of seconds before a smile appeared back on his lips. “Well too bad for Dumbles! I already have my lessons planned out—”

Maverik’s head swivelled to stare at his brother. “You have?”

Ignatius pouted. “You scepticism wounds me, dear brother,” he declared, and Maverik only rolled his eyes. “And, yes, I have. So Dumbles can fuck off if he thinks he can trample over my hard work!” Ignatius said cheerily. “How many howlers do you think it will take this time?” he asked, a smile Maverik knew to be utterly _sadistic_ in nature spreading over his face at the thought of bombarding the old man with more of those. “I can always send them in the middles of the night like I did last time…”

Severus barked out a laugh, a soft smile appearing on his face. “I will stick to the NEWT students then,” he remarked, and Ignatius smiled back.

“And the second item?” Maverik asked, already dreading the answer, because Dumbledore trying to meddle in with their lessons wouldn’t cause Severus to be _that_ stressed. _Mostly because he was well aware they were fully prepared to engage in psychological warfare should Dumbledore want to make them do something they were fully opposed to._

“Remember how he was meeting with Nicolas Flamel this summer?” Severus began, closing his tired eyes then. “He intends to bring the Philosopher’s Stone into the castle for safekeeping…”

“You mean the very thing which the self-styled Dark Lord will be after?” Maverik asked, raising one eyebrow, making his thoughts on the matter evident as he pursed his lips and took a sip of firewhisky, enjoying the burn on his throat as he swallowed it down.

“He’s gone senile, and we didn’t even notice…” Ignatius muttered, shaking his head. “Does he realise there are _children_ in this school?”

Severus snorted. “I believe the headmaster is quite aware of that fact,” he said. “It gets worse – we have to design an obstacle between us to slow him down, but the real kicker is that _‘it has to be something children could figure out how to get past’._ ”

Ignatius blinked.

Maverik sighed.

“He’s lost it,” Ignatius said. “Or…”

“Or he’s planning on allowing an encounter between our precious _Boy Who Lived_ and the Dark Lord himself,” Severus stated, lips drawn into a frown, even though Maverik was well aware he hated everything Potter. “That’s the only reason I could think of that the headmaster would specifically state that _children_ had to be able to pass through.”

“Right.” Ignatius clapped his hands together. “Is our beloved Professor McGonagall doing anything to stop him?”

Severus shook his head with a sigh. “She’s not _Slytherin_ , and I don’t think she realises what he’s planning… I think she just believes it to be a safety precaution should any of the children figure how to get into the third floor corridor in the first place… But that isn’t the worst of it,” Severus said, burying his face in his hands then. “Our illustrious headmaster, in all his wisdom, has seen it fit to take down one of the wards.”

Maverik stilled at that, as did Ignatius. “What?” Ignatius hissed, eyes narrowing into little slits. “I don’t see a reason why a ward has to be taken down for this particular years… oh no,” he muttered, spying the dark look on their eldest brother’s face. “What is it?”

“The Mirror of Erised.”

Maverik sighed for what had to be the hundredth time that evening, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt the oncoming headache as his brother exploded with rage next to him.

“The Mirror of Erised?” Ignatius demanded, leaping to his feet then. “The Mirror of Erised which is related to the Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries? The Mirror of Erised which is an _EXTREMELY_ dangerous, not to mention _dark_ artifact? That Mirror of Erised? _IN A SCHOOL FULL OF CHILDREN?”_

“My reaction precisely,” Severus said, taking a long drink from his bottle of firewhisky then.

Maverik thought he rather deserved it.

**Author's Note:**

> SPORADIC UPDATES T_T


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